“Release Sir Daye’s people,” he said. “Return her alchemist’s things to him. Nothing has been taken, or broken.”
“Good,” said Walther. He stepped forward to claim the little chest, clearing his throat when King Rhys didn’t seem inclined to put the amethyst bottle back. Looking faintly offended, Rhys returned the bottle to its place. Walther closed the lid of the chest and retreated to his original position.
I noted all this out of the corner of my eye: the bulk of my attention was on the guards approaching May and Quentin, neither of whom had spoken through this whole ordeal. One of the guards removed a glass vial from his pocket. He uncorked it, and dripped three drops of clear liquid onto the vines holding May’s wrists. They promptly writhed and curled into a small green ball, like a flowered bezoar, which dropped to the floor. The guard repeated the process with Quentin.
Still neither one of them moved. King Rhys turned his head, facing them, and said in a loud, clear voice, “You may go.”
They both walked forward, their steps measured so that they moved together, as smooth and soulless as automatons. I swallowed the urge to shout even as it rose in my throat. I didn’t know that what I feared was happening was real. Maybe they were just staying quiet out of protest, and the desire not to make things worse.
Then they got close enough for me to see their eyes. Their pupils were dilated, and their normally sharp, focused gazes were soft and blank. I turned to Rhys, glaring mutely. He met my eyes and smiled. Just a little. Just enough that I knew he was my enemy. If everything that had come before had been politics, this was personal.
“They had to be sedated in order to keep them calm while we awaited your return,” he said. “Had you not run out of here the way you did, it might not have been necessary. You have my sincere apologies for any trouble this has caused. I’m sure you can understand why I would be wary of deceit from a diplomat belonging to a Kingdom we are on the cusp of war with—a diplomat who has already been known to depose monarchs she did not approve of.”
“Not sure this is how I’d go about making me approve of you,” I said tightly. I wanted to say more, but the eager way he watched me made me rein myself in. He was waiting for an opportunity to strike. Tybalt’s threat had been enough to cow him for the moment. That didn’t mean he wouldn’t move if he thought that he could get away with it. I swallowed my fury, cleared my throat, and said, “Don’t do this again.”
Rhys raised an eyebrow. “I beg your pardon?”
“I’m not raising my voice, I’m not yelling at you, and I think I’ve earned a moment of speaking on my own behalf, considering what you just tried to pull, so let me say it one more time, for the sake of clarity: don’t do this again. If you want to arrest me, fine, you’re the King here, you can arrest me. But if you don’t want it to be the biggest mistake of your political career, you’ll arrest me for something I did, rather than trying to trump up a crime you know damn well I didn’t commit. This wasn’t smart of you. It makes us both look bad. So don’t. Do it. Again.”
There was a long pause before Rhys nodded. “I will take your words under advisement, Sir Daye. You are free to leave my presence, as are your people. The night has been long, and we are planning to push it further. Return for a late dinner at the stroke of noon. We shall have a grand feast in your honor.”
“We wouldn’t miss it,” I said. I took Quentin’s hand, which he let me have without protest, and gestured for Tybalt to do the same with May. My fury raged against my breastbone, begging for its freedom, and the fact that I couldn’t grant it what it wanted was worse than the anger itself.
Together, the five of us walked out of the room, May and Quentin staring vacantly off into space, Walther clutching his chest as tightly as I held my squire’s hand. None of us spoke. If we had, I think Rhys would have found a lot more grounds to arrest us for treason. All he’d really needed to do was wait.
FOURTEEN
“HOW MUCH LONGER?” I glared at Walther as I paced back and forth across the bedroom. May and Quentin were sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at the wall in front of them. Even waving my hand in front of their faces hadn’t been enough to make them track my motion or acknowledge my presence. Only direct orders did that, and I didn’t like commanding my friends when they couldn’t refuse me.
“Almost done,” said Walther, adding another pinch of brightly colored powder to his mortar. “This would be a lot easier if I had access to my lab back at the University.”
“Well, you don’t. Work faster.” I kept pacing.
Walther didn’t dignify my words with a reply. That was probably for the best. He had checked the room for new listening charms when we first got back, and hadn’t managed to find any; either King Rhys had charm-crafters who were so far outside of Walther’s league that he couldn’t recognize their work, or no one had yet figured out that they weren’t getting anything useful out of this room.
Tybalt was gone. He hadn’t told me where he was going, but he’d kissed me before diving into the shadows behind the bed, and I trusted that whatever he was doing, he’d come back and explain it when he was done. I would normally have been a lot more agitated about him running off without explanation during a crisis, but Walther had still been checking for new listening charms when Tybalt had opened the Shadow Roads. Explanations hadn’t been safe yet.
I was still wearing my latest involuntary ball gown, since I hadn’t been able to figure out how to remove it on my own. The more things changed, the more they inevitably stayed the same. Most court gear seems to have been designed to hobble women, making us easier to catch—and honestly, easier to kill. I’m sure there are people who know how to fight in floor-length gowns with six layers of crinoline, but I do not know their secrets. I just know that I’ll take denim over damask any day, and I was looking forward to May being able to help me with the ties on my current dress.
“Done,” said Walther.
I whirled around to face him. “Done?”
“Done,” he repeated. He stood, leaving most of his kit behind as he started toward the bed. “I’m not sure how they’re going to react. You might want to stand back.”
“No. They’re my responsibility. If this stuff doesn’t require magic to use, let me do it. I can take a lot more damage than you can.”
Walther paused for a moment, said, “Good point,” and handed me his mortar. It was filled with a white, faintly luminescent dust, like embossing glitter. “Just blow a pinch of this in their eyes and they should snap out of it. It’s a broad-spectrum anti-hypnotic, which means it’ll work on a dozen different kinds of base enchantment, but some of them will leave them not remembering anything that’s happened since they were whammied.”
“Which is why there might be hitting, got it,” I said. “Step back.”
Walther stepped back.
I set the mortar down on the table next to the bed and placed a pinch of powder in the palm of my hand, where it created a glittering white smear. It didn’t have a smell, but it chilled my skin slightly: the mark of Walther’s magic. Once I was sure I had enough I bent, just a little, and blew the powder into Quentin’s eyes.
The effect was instantaneous. Quentin’s pupils snapped back to their normal size and shape, his shoulders went from drugged stiffness to his normal, natural good posture, and he punched me in the face without hesitation. There was a resounding “crack” as the cartilage in my nose gave way. It was accompanied by a bolt of pain and a sudden hot gush of blood from both nostrils, which coated my chin and soaked into the front of my dress as Quentin was pulling back to hit me again. I was ready for him this time, and caught his wrist before he could begin his swing.